Home » Latch Key Husband – FAIL

Latch Key Husband – FAIL

by Terrye

At least mine isn’t this bad.

My cellphone sang its happy little ukulele tune at 7:05am this morning. Just as I was falling back asleep from my benevolent benefactor’s morning stampede ritual before departing for work. With one eye closed, I flipped the phone open and looked at the caller ID, which cheerfully displayed “Asstard.”

It also happens to be a term of endearment for my beloved husband. Usually because he’s locked himself out of something, somewhere and he expects ME to rescue him. Like the time he showed up at the security desk at my work in his pajamas, begging for my house keys so he could get back inside, shower and get to the barn to feed the horses before his first client ride of the day.

Confused and hoping he hadn’t tried to sever anything from his body again, I answered with concern seeping from my voice, “WHAT?!”

“Let me in,” he demanded sheepishly.

“Where the hell are you?”I was becoming more annoyed by the nanosecond.


“Really? If you aren’t INSIDE, you can only be outside. WHERE outside?”

“By the door.”

We have two doors going to this OUTSIDE thing. I swear, getting specifics from him is a lot like asking a toddler to explain the Fiscal Cliff to Congress.

“Why. Are. You. By. The. Door?”

“I locked myself out when I took the trash to the curb.”

Ok, he scores mega points for remembering to roll the heavy trash can the 25 feet from the back door to the curb. But, subtract those mega points for making me get out of a nice, warm, comfy bed after only getting 5 hours of sleep. I laid there for a minute debating how long he could stand outside in the 50 degree weather before he gave up and walked to work. But, then I remembered his tool box keys are also on his key ring with his house key and truck keys.

They are scary, aren’t they?

And he was already late for work because he took the trash down. It’s not like he couldn’t make up the time, his commute is only 2 blocks to work. Why he drives, I don’t know. Maybe he’s afraid of the wild pack of Chihuahuas that terrorize the neighborhood with their constant yipping and demanding, “Yo quiero Taco Bell!”

Yes, I let him in. This time.

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